Lia caught the scowl, and for a moment, she thought about letting it pass, like correcting him would be like unwrapping a present that belonged just to her: something very private. But she couldn't not correct him, let him know that she wasn't being a brat: "Charlie," she said simply, polishing off her second shot, this time with a bit of a wince.
Trading the shot glass for the beer, she shrugged, looking at George. She rolled her half-empty glass between her hands. "Well. Before anything else. What did you bring of Fred's?" That would guide them, she figured, through what came next.